Girls, Guilty but Somehow Glorious (17 page)

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29

THURSDAY 11.03 a.m.

Swept off my feet by his roller-coaster

At break, I heaved a deep sigh and tried to summon my few pathetic shreds of courage.

‘I have to go and confront Oliver,’ I told Chloe. ‘I have to explain that misunderstanding we had.’

‘Oh . . . right,’ said Chloe. She was smiling and trying to look positive and supportive, but I could tell she couldn’t quite remember what I was talking about. ‘I’ve got to go and see Dingle anyway, to get that work I missed on Tuesday. Then it’s maths.’ We’re in separate sets for maths, for reasons which must remain private.

‘I’ll see you at lunchtime, then,’ I said, and trudged off towards my appointment with doom.

I’d got my speech all ready. Well, it was hardly a speech. More a sort of brief aside. It went like this: ‘I’m sorry about the misunderstanding about the farm. I was telling Donut I lived on a farm because he was hitting on me and I wanted him to think I lived way way out in the sticks, so I’d, like,
never
be available to go out anywhere.’ It sounded so lame, but it was, in fact, just the plain old truth. So if I only managed to say this to Oliver, at least it wouldn’t rebound horribly on me and cause me loads of extra hassle.

I walked towards the sixth-form area, my heart starting to beat like a drum. The sixth form are based on the first floor, at the far side of the school, where the corridor turns into a sort of open balcony thing overlooking the field. As I reached this point, I glanced down. It was quite a sunny spring-like day and crowds of people had gone down on to the field. And there, talking to some guys, was Oliver!

He had his back to me, but of course I recognised it immediately. Just the sight of his shoulders, a hundred metres away, was enough to send all my nerves and arteries into some kind of deranged dance. I turned round, raced back along the corridor, down some steps and out on to the school’s back terrace – and down some more steps on to the field.

By now I was panting unattractively. Whoa! Big mistake that was. I should have strolled here. How could I look casual and offhand, as if I’d just bumped into him, if I was bright red and gasping for breath? I’d have to say I was desperately seeking Chloe.

Now I was surrounded by crowds, and I couldn’t see Oliver at all. I pushed my way through gangs of random people. Occasionally someone said, ‘Hi Zoe!’ But I just waved and pulled an
I’m busy
face, and pressed on. I reached the edge of the crowd eventually, and looked around. Still no sign of Oliver. I panicked. And then I double-panicked. For strolling towards me looking mad, bad and dangerous was none other than Beast and his moronic sidekick, Donut.

‘Hi, darlin’!’ he said, and suddenly he was right up close, invading my personal space with his strange glittering eyes. ‘Looking for somebody? Who’s the lucky guy? Could it be me? If not, why not?’

I hesitated. For a moment I was tempted to say I was looking for Oliver. But I
so
wanted to keep the Oliver part of my life separate from the Beast ’n’ Donut part of my life.

‘You’re out of breath, babe!’ Beast went on. He was actually stroking my arm, now, the animal! ‘Hey! Relax! Calm down.’

‘I am relaxed!’ I snapped, in hyper-stress. ‘I am deeply deeply calm!’

Beast laughed.

‘I love the way you talk! Don’t you love the way she talks, Doh?’ Donut nodded eagerly. To please his master he would be prepared to love the way I spat.

‘Tell you what, though, babe,’ he said, ‘you’re not very fit, are you? I don’t mean
not fit
, like, not good-looking. To be honest I’ve always thought you were one of the best-looking girls in the school. I mean,
not fit
, like, needing a fitness programme and a personal trainer. And I’m the man for the job.’

‘You are so
not
!’ I retorted, though it was really hard to stand up to him. Somehow he slithered his way round you like a snake. ‘If I ever decide to do a fitness programme, I’m quite capable of organising it myself, thanks very much.’

‘Anybody ever told you what sweet little dimples you got, Zoe?’ he said, grinning practically into my face. I was furious. How dare Beast hit on me here, on the school field? How dare he hit on me anywhere?

‘My dimples,’ I said coldly, ‘are nothing compared to Chloe’s freckles, which you must have noticed, as you spent so much time with her recently.’

‘Ahhh, your little friend,’ breathed Beast, putting his arm round my shoulders. ‘Tell you what, Zoe, she’s a cracker. But I think I must have done something to upset her, cos she won’t speak to me now. And to tell you the truth, she’s not really my type. I like a girl with a bit of flesh on her. Something cuddly. Something to grab hold of.’ And his big beastly fingers closed around my upper arm, squeezing my special store of flab till it almost hurt.

‘Thanks for pointing out that I am technically overweight!’ I sneered. ‘Such wonderful manners!’

‘You’re not overweight, babe!’ he grinned. ‘You’re perfect! Overweight, my arse! You’re as light as a freakin’ feather – look!’ Suddenly he kind of bent down slightly, and before I knew what was happening, he had hoisted me up on to his shoulder and was wheeling me round. Round and round and round. The field, the sky, the school, all flashed past in a madly whirling horizon.

I screamed. Everybody laughed. I held on tight to Beast’s jacket, because though this mad whirling circus performance was the last thing on earth I wanted to be doing, I certainly didn’t want to crash to the ground and end up brain damaged.

Beast was horribly strong. He’s a rugby player and they are always tossing each other about like bags of laundry.

‘Put me down!’ I screamed. ‘Put me down!’ And then I got kind of hysterical, and started laughing madly. It wasn’t that I was enjoying myself – quite the contrary. I have never enjoyed a moment less. But I just felt so totally helpless, I kind of freaked out. My body was trapped: laughing seemed all it could do. It was a painful kind of laughing, though. Quite close to crying, in fact.

Faces of people nearby loomed and vanished. It was like being on a roundabout at the fair. I began to feel sick. Then suddenly, out of the crowd, Oliver’s face flashed past. Oliver was watching!

‘Put me down!’ I roared unattractively. ‘I’m going to be sick!’

That did the trick. Beast lowered me to the ground. I wasn’t actually sick, but my head was spinning. I had to stand ultra-still for a while and hold on to my head until the field stopped spinning, bucking and rocking.

I looked round. Oliver had vanished. A blonde girl had come up to Beast and was, apparently, demanding the same treatment, as if it was some kind of joyride. He was busy chatting her up. It was as if I’d never existed. My enchanting dimples and lovable flab were on the scrap heap – thank God. I wouldn’t have to ask Chloe ever again what had happened between her and Beast. I’d experienced it myself, in two minutes flat.

My legs began to feel normal again. I limped off quietly into the crowds. My stomach was still queasy, though. But it wasn’t the vertigo. It wasn’t physical. It was the knowledge that Oliver had now seen me three times: once, with Donut fingering my earrings; once, with my arms flung around Toby, and now, being tossed about by Beast as if I was some kind of plaything, and I’d been laughing like a drunken slapper.

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30

THURSDAY 7.12 p.m.

A touching offer in the bathroom . . .

A depression settled over me. I was deep in the glooms. My life was in ruins. Oliver would probably never speak to me again. There was nobody to take me to the Earthquake Ball. Matthew would be taking Chloe – and despite my efforts he was still technically a robot. And he’d be expecting to meet my partner Nigel, in order, possibly, to challenge him to a duel over me.

Worse, I was going to fail utterly as fairy godmother to Toby and Fergus. They might as well invest in a couple of scarecrows as partners. Even a mediocre scarecrow would be better looking than any girl I was likely to be able to recruit at this late stage.

‘By the way, Zoe,’ said Mum at supper, ‘when’s that school trip, again?’

‘What school trip?’ I asked listlessly, from the depths of my tragic despair.

‘The all-male
Hamlet
in Russian,’ said Mum. My heart gave a massive, salad-threatening lurch. Oh,
that
school trip!

‘It’s next week – but, uh, excuse me,’ I said, leaping up in terror and running out of the room in what I hoped was a carefree but trustworthy manner.

‘Come back!’ she said. ‘You haven’t finished your salad!’

‘Just going to the loo!’ I trilled, thundering up the stairs. Horrors! I had so many reasons to be desperate, I couldn’t even remember them all at once! I had totally forgotten about
Hamlet
. How was I going to get myself out of that one?

Sometimes the bathroom is the only place where you can chill out. I decided to forget my woes by losing myself in a trashy magazine. I was halfway through a page devoted to Celebrity Lovebites when my phone rang. It was Fergus. Bizarre! And even more bizarre if he’d known where I was sitting.

‘Fergy baby!’ I addressed him. ‘What’s the story?’

‘OKOK,’ said Fergus in his usual quick-fire jittery style. ‘ICan’tManage MuchButICanDoFifty. OK?’

‘Fifty?’ I was briefly puzzled. Part of my brain was still involved with Celebrity Lovebites, and to be honest, wanting to take the subject a lot further.

‘FiftyQuid,’ said Fergus. ‘I’llBringItToSchool Tomorrow. OK?’

‘Fergus!’ I cried. ‘You’re the lovechild of the goddess Venus!’

‘Ugh!Ugh! ISureAsHellHopeNot,’ said Fergus. ‘SeeYouTomorrow. Bye!’

Dear little Fergus! Ransacking his piggy bank! Prizing his little pennies out and putting them in a sweet little envelope just to help his rather sad friend, Yours Truly! I was thinking of Fergus with great affection as I wiped my bum. Although to be honest I’m not sure he would ever want to know that.

I washed my hands with endless care, just to waste a bit more time, and then went back downstairs to pick at the last few shreds of salad. Mum was now busy arguing with Dad about whether they were going away for a weekend sometime soon. Good. This meant she had, temporarily at least, forgotten about my ‘school trip’.

‘But I love Tenby!’ Dad was saying.

‘You’re such an old stick-in-the-mud,’ complained Mum. ‘I want to whisk you away to Nice for a romantic break by the Med!’

‘Who’s going to look after little Zoe?’ asked Dad, putting on a
pity for the tragic orphan
kind of face.

‘She can go to Chloe’s, like she always does!’ Mum assured him.

I shovelled down the last of my supper and then swiftly cleared away the dishes. I was feeling slightly better since Fergus’s call. He had reminded me how lucky I was to have buddies like him. I just
had
to find him a partner for the Earthquake Ball. I might have to go down to New Look and bribe a tiny but cute starlet as she emerged from the changing rooms.

I went back upstairs and entered Tam’s room. I lay on her bed and sent her a text.
HAVE GOT BIG BUCKS FOR YOU. FUND CURRENTLY STANDS AT AROUND £692. I THINK THAT MIGHT HAVE TO BE IT THOUGH. LV, Z X

Immediately a text whizzed back:
YOU BEAUT, ZOE! I’LL COME HOME THIS WEEKEND AND COLLECT IT. OH WHOOPEE!

I was glad she was pleased, but I wasn’t sure about that ‘
Oh whoopee
’ business. She sounded a bit rampant. As if she might just grab my friends’ dosh, race off to the mall, and blow it all on glass slippers and golden coaches. I looked around her room. Everywhere it seemed there was some kind of evidence against her.

Sparkly scarves hanging from her hat stand. The hat stand itself (antique pine – a junk shop purchase.) Something made of ostrich feathers. I don’t much like feathers. They’re OK on birds, but I feel that’s where they should stay. I stared rather moodily at her guitar, amp and keyboard. A couple of years ago Tam had toyed with the idea of being a rock star.

On her noticeboard there were lots of photos of her at various ages. Some of the photos had me in as well. I would always be just standing there like a sack of sand, grinning nerdily at the camera. But Tam would be striking a pose, all the time. Hand on hip, pouting lip, pulling a ‘hideous’ face but somehow still effortlessly Hollywood . . . you know the sort of thing.

I felt a bit tired, turned over towards the wall and came face to face with her old teddy bear, Captain. His gloomy old snout was up close to mine. He’s a miserable old bear, to be honest, but then you’d be miserable if your mistress had gone off to uni and left you at home. She told him it was because his arms have a tendency to fall off and she didn’t want him to get damaged. But Captain knew it was because she didn’t want him to be staring disapprovingly at her as she had all that wonderful fun with her friends.

‘Captain,’ I said, just to pass the time, ‘you smell of old tears. But you ain’t seen nothing yet.’ I thought it might be a considerate act, if I felt a crying fit coming on (and didn’t I just!) to offer it to Captain rather than my own bear, Bruce, who is smiley, fluffy, and possibly gay. Bruce certainly wouldn’t mind being passed over for Captain once in a while. He’s so laid back, he won’t even sit up properly. If you try to sit him upright, he just topples sideways with a louche grin on his face.

I went into my bedroom. Bruce was sprawling on his back, smiling at the ceiling. I’m certainly going to take him with me if I ever go to uni. He’s such a party animal.

I opened the wardrobe door. This was where I’d stashed the big bucks. There were two boxes in there – a small one full of clothes I’m certainly going to donate to charity, and a big one half-full of clothes I
might
donate. On top was a sequinned boob tube from my mum’s old college days. I scrabbled about under this pile until I felt the magic envelope. I rather furtively got it out and peeped inside. So many notes! So much money! It was wonderful, but also kind of scary. I closed the envelope again and tucked it safely away, underneath all the ‘Clothes I Might Donate’. Then I closed the wardrobe door, and joined Bruce on the bed.

I was halfway through our first cuddle when my mobile rang again. What was this? Tam reporting that she’d already got through my first £100 by setting up a tab and treating everyone in the college bar to a flagon of champagne? Oh no – it was Chloe.

‘Zoe!’ she sounded deep in crisis, as usual. ‘I can’t go to the Ball with Matthew! I’ve been thinking about it and I was mad to ask him. It was only because I’d just had a row with Beast. Please, please get me out of this! Ring him and tell him I’m ill! I know I’m being useless and horrid again but please, just do this one small thing for me and I promise, from now on I’ll be fabulous and help you out with all the tough stuff!’

I had to smile. ‘No listen, Chloe,’ I said gently. ‘This is the perfect opportunity for you to start doing the tough stuff right now. You asked him to the Ball, so it’s got to be you who dumps him. OK?’ I knew if I rang Matthew and told him Chloe was ill, he’d ask me to go with him instead – Nigel or no Nigel.

‘Oh no! I couldn’t dump him!’ said Chloe. ‘Poor Matthew! But, Zoe, how can I go with him? He’s weird.’

‘Sleep on it,’ I advised her. ‘Give it twenty-four hours, and if you’re still horrified at the thought, we’ll think of something then.’

‘Come round my house tomorrow night after school,’ said Chloe. ‘It’ll be our last chance to sort something out. Frankly I’m so sick of this Ball business I’d willingly go down with food poisoning just to avoid it.’

It was indeed a tempting thought.

‘Well, come round mine,’ I said. ‘It’s my dad’s night to cook. You never know, we might get lucky.’